Letting Life Change Us
by The Sunday Wife
Summary: "He can disapprove all he likes, Mrs. Hughes has got a fancy man." Mr. Carson finds out about Mrs. Hughes's proposal, and thinks about what life at Downton would be like without her. He doesn't like the picture he comes up with.
1. Chapter 1

Mr. Carson drummed his fingers against the desk in his pantry, and glanced at the clock again. It was only five minutes since he had last looked. He felt agitated and restless, though he was at a loss as to why, exactly. Perhaps it was this business with the wine. He had taken Mrs. Hughes's suggestion and gone to the wine cellar to recount everything. It had taken him quite a while before he was satisfied that his count was correct, only because he had wished to take his time and be thorough. It had nothing to do with the fact that as he was counting bottles he began to wonder where Mrs. Hughes was spending her evening off, recalling how her eyes had shone with nervous anticipation. It certainly wasn't because about halfway through his counting of the wine, he began counting minutes as well. Fortunately, then there had been dinner's usual duties to keep him busy and away from his pocket watch, yet even amidst the chaos he still managed to lament her absence.

Now everyone had gone to bed, he had seen the young Mr. Crawley out, and there was nothing to do but wait until...what, exactly? Mrs. Hughes was a grown woman, entitled to do as she pleased same as anyone else. It wasn't any of his business where she was. True, some evenings they might share a cup of tea and discuss the day, things that needed to be done, but she had taken an evening off from her duties as housekeeper and that likely meant a night off from his tiresome company as well. Mr. Carson had no right to claim any of her time. He sighed and returned to his book, determined not to look at the clock again. He'd only managed to get through a few pages in the last half hour; he kept coming to the end of a paragraph and realizing he had no idea what he'd just read.

Mr. Carson had indeed made it to the next page and was congratulating himself on this fact when he heard the back door open and shut. He became very still, and though he kept his eyes on his book in feigned indifference his ears betrayed him by straining to listen for her footsteps. There they were, tiny and precise as they clicked across the floor, if not as brisk as usual. Her steps came closer to the door of his pantry, slowing to a stop just outside it. Mr. Carson could see her profile from his chair, and almost called out a greeting, except she looked tired and deep in thought; he had no wish to startle her. He stood, and silently walked towards her when he heard Mr. Bates's voice cut across the quiet.

"How was your evening, Mrs. Hughes?"

He watched her smile as she replied, "Very enjoyable, thank you." Were his eyes betraying him now as well, or was she blushing? Mr Carson couldn't recall ever seeing her smile quite like that, as if she was trying not to but couldn't help smiling anyway. He'd certainly never seen her blush, the palest hint of rose on her ivory cheeks. He noted all this, listening as she hastened to get away before the others came back, it seemed, with an uncomfortably heavy feeling he couldn't identify.

Mr. Carson continued to stand there a few moments more, watching as she said goodnight to the others and walked away. He thought briefly she might turn and say good night to him, at least, considering she was right there at his door, but she did not. The others bustled past her as she left, and Mr Carson was so deep in considering the uncharacteristic behavior he had just seen, that he almost missed Thomas's smart remark. It snapped him out of himself, however, and he stepped neatly into the hall.

"I beg your pardon!" he managed to say sternly and disapproving even as his head spun with the possible implications of said remark, however impertinent.

Mr Carson's head spun faster, though, as Thomas outdid his previous rudeness with his next comment, his voice slightly lowered, "He can disapprove all he likes, Mrs. Hughes has got herself a fancy man." Oddly he couldn't bring himself to go out to scold Thomas more properly, and break up the conversation as he surely should. He was too busy listening, holding his breath as Thomas so glibly tossed around the idea of Mrs. Hughes leaving (leaving!) and Miss O'Brien replacing her.

Mr. Carson sat down behind his desk and picked up his book, though the letters seemed strangely unfamiliar, the words about as recognizable as Ancient Greek. And despite firmly telling himself that none of it concerned him in the least, the only words he could focus on weren't on the page, but in his head, playing in a continuous loop that left him dizzy. "Sparkly-eyed", "fancy man", "vacancy"..._"boyfriend."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Forgot one of these last time: I don't own Downton Abbey or its characters, they belong to Julian Fellowes. **

**I wanted to get this up today, so it hasn't been betaed. I apologize in advance for any errors. Just like the previous chapter, there are a few lines taken directly from episode four, but I tried not to let it get too boring, and I of course do not try to claim those words as my own.**

For Mr. Carson, sleep was nearly impossible that night. He found himself replaying in his mind how Mrs. Hughes had smiled and blushed so prettily, almost shy. Her eyes had indeed been sparkling.

Could Thomas possibly be right? Had Mrs. Hughes found an admirer? Would he ask her to marry him? Well he'd be a fool not to, whoever he was. And Carson knew she would almost certainly say yes, she'd intimated that she sometimes wished she had gotten married. That would be it; she'd be gone.

He hated the thought of her leaving Downton. If they could barely handle things without her for one evening, how would they manage in her permanent absence? Of course, the pragmatic side of himself reasoned, they would have to hire someone else. Every great house must have a housekeeper. And Mrs. Hughes was not the sort of woman to desert her post until a suitable replacement could be found, so there really was nothing to worry about on that score...Then what was bothering him so?

Mr. Carson couldn't put his finger on it just yet, but in any case he decided there was simply no benefit to his current train of thought. He was allowing himself to be upset by somethingThomas had said, of all people! There was a very good chance that he had simply overheard some idle gossip, and Mrs. Hughes had no such gentleman admirer. However...there was still the chance that Thomas was right, and Mr. Carson realized he wouldn't have a moments inner peace until he knew for sure either way. He would have to get an answer from Mrs. Hughes herself.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Carson stared blearily into his teacup, lamenting that the hot liquid contained no answers for him. It had taken him a surprising amount of time before realizing how premature his anxiety was, and by that point he had lost at least half the night to his worried musings. Which was why he was now sitting at the table trying his best to maintain his usual dignified presence. If he appeared half as bad as he felt, he was in trouble. The staff could be like a pack of dogs at times; one hint of weakness and they would be poised to attack.

Mrs. Hughes, on the other hand, appeared to be his opposite. Well-rested, bright-eyed, and with a hint of last night's smile still gracing her lips, she looked several years younger. Carson noticed all these things with an admiring gaze; despite his anxiety regarding the possible reason for such a transformation, he could not deny how beautiful she looked.

The object of his study looked up from the apparently fond musings into her own teacup; she glanced his way and took note of his unusually rumpled state. She gently placed her hand on top of his where it rested on the table between them. "Are you alright?" she asked, lingering on the r sound in that way of hers that Mr. Carson had grown so fond of.

He smile wanly. How could he answer her that _she _was the cause of his distress?

"I'm alright, Mrs. Hughes, thank you. Just a bit tired," he replied.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked.

Carson tried to answer truthfully. "Perhaps. I'm not sure just yet, and that's part of the trouble."

Mrs. Hughes patted his hand fondly. "Well, if its anything I can help with or if you just want a listening ear, you know where to find me." She said smiling.

He smiled back, a little more genuinely this time. And when she gently squeezed his hand in a gesture of support and reassurance, he felt it oddly enough, not only in his hand but in his chest, as if she had gently squeezed his heart as well. It was a strange, but not unpleasant feeling, Carson noted.

The moment was shattered by the clattering of the bells. Their work day had begun.

* * *

Later Mr. Carson popped his head into her sitting room. "I forgot to ask you, Mrs. Hughes, how was your night off?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner.

"It was very nice, thank you." Carson watched as she chewed her lower lip, apparently lost in thought. Then he realized the inappropriateness of him staring at her mouth, and quickly looked away. "You seem...preoccupied."

"Do I? I suppose I am, I have bit of a decision to make."

Carson didn't like the sound of that. "Oh? Well I'll just...leave you to it then." He hesitated, and tried to draw out his departure as long as possible without actually standing still.

Mrs. Hughes looked at him thoughtfully. "Mr. Carson wait...why don't you come in and sit down? I'd like to talk to you about it if you don't mind." He closed the door behind him and took a seat, the table between their chairs a physical reminder of just how much there was that separated them.

He listened as Mrs. Hughes proceeded to tell him about the farmer she'd walked out with in her days before Downton, and how she'd seen him last night for the first time in years.

"And he was horribly old, fat, and red faced, and you couldn't think what you ever saw in him," he joked lightly, hoping that he was right.

Of course Mrs. Hughes was too kind for such an ungenerous assessment, even if there was truth to it. "He's still a nice man." She smiled fondly at the little straw doll on her table, probably some token from her evening with this farmer. Carson had the sudden thought that he'd very much like to watch the ridiculous thing turn to ash in his fireplace.

"And he proposed again...and you accepted...?" He held his breath as he waited for her answer, hoping against the overwhelming odds that she would contradict him.

She smiled, shyly, and Carson was again reminded of the beautiful young Scottish girl that she'd been when she'd first come to Downton all those years ago. "I...haven't given him an answer yet. He said he'd rather wait a week for the right answer than get the wrong one in a hurry. I thought that was rather sweet thing to say, don't you think?" Carson smiled thinly. "I'm terribly flattered, of course. It's quite likely the last time any man will ask me such a thing, so I want to be sure, when I do answer." Mrs. Hughes looked up at him then. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Carson. He is very nice, he's just as I remember him. In a way, he hasn't changed. But I'm afraid I have. I don't know if I'm that farm girl anymore," she said sadly.

Carson made an effort to appear empathetic, though truthfully he felt relieved and hopeful. It sounded like she was leaning towards turning this man down. "Life's altered you, as its altered me. And what would be the point of living if we didn't let life change us?"

Mrs. Hughes looked at him. "Do you think I should accept?"

The room became extremely still, as if both of them were holding their breath. Mr. Carson considered carefully his next choice of words. "I think-"

Anna opened the door. "You'd better come, Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Patamore's on the rampage, you know how she gets about not having a store cupboard key of her own."

Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes as she stood. "Nor will she have, not while I'm housekeeper here." She paused in front of him, as if to say something, then simply smiled and walked out to the kitchen.

_Not while I'm housekeeper here._ Mr. Carson wondered just how much longer that might be.

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